


Acceptable Damages

by arrow (esteefee)



Series: Persistence [1]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: April Showers Challenge, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Recovery, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-08
Updated: 2007-06-08
Packaged: 2017-10-17 12:25:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/arrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Jim is roughed up, he lets slip with something maybe he shouldn't.</p><p>
  <i>The last thing he needed was Sandburg buzzing around him like a hummingbird on crack. The constant motion and questions were trying what little patience Jim did have. Which, considering the ice pack currently melting onto his balls, wasn't much.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Acceptable Damages

No one had ever accused Jim Ellison of being a patient man, not even at the best of times. And right now, lying in a beaten heap on the sofa with every muscle aching, his ribs cracked, and bruises covering most of his skin, did _not_ constitute the best of times.

The last thing he needed was Sandburg buzzing around him like a hummingbird on crack. The constant motion and questions were trying what little patience Jim did have. Which, considering the ice pack currently melting onto his balls, wasn't much.

"No, I don't want any more freakin' tea, Sandburg."

"This isn't just tea, Jim," Blair said, tentatively offering the steaming cup. "It has arnica, which is a terrific anti-inflammatory. Also, cramp bark, which helps relax the muscles so maybe your ribs can cut a break because, man, you are _tense."_

 __That was a polite way of putting it. Jim had been a little 'tense' for two days now, ever since he'd been taken, dragged off to that condemned building and beaten within an inch of his life.

Blair put the cup down. "What do you say to pancakes?"

"I don't usually talk to my food, Sandburg."

That earned him a laugh, then Blair was moving again, tea abandoned on the coffee table as he headed into the kitchen.

Jim listened to the sounds of Blair making batter, smelled the butter sizzling in the pan—heavenly. He _was_ hungry, he realized. He tried to remember the last time he'd eaten. This morning he'd only had coffee and some toast. The night before, when he'd given his report to Simon in the ER, Sandburg had brought him a glass of apple juice that tasted like acid for some reason.

So, it would have been yesterday in that smelly hole of a room where, in between sessions, he'd found a small packet of cheese and crackers, the kind with the little red plastic wand for spreading the processed cheese.

Before that, it would have been dinner the night he was taken.

"Jesus, Jim, I can't believe we found you in time," Blair said suddenly.

Jim felt a chill, and reached with his bandaged hands for the afghan draped over the back of the couch. He'd barely moved before Blair was leaning over to drag it down and tuck it around him.

"You're gonna burn breakfast," Jim said roughly.

Blair disappeared again. Jim heard the _scrape-plop_ as he used the spatula to lift out the pancakes. When Jim opened his eyes, Blair was hovering over him again, the plate in his hand.

"I didn't know—you want syrup? Fruit?"

"They're fine like this." Jim couldn't imagine trying to work a knife and fork with his arms and hands in this condition. And he damned well wouldn't stand for being fed like a baby. Instead, he tweaked the top pancake off the stack and rolled it up to chew on the end.

"Good?"

"Terrific, thanks," Jim mumbled around a mouthful.

Blair looked relieved, and patiently held the plate until Jim had finished all three. Then he offered Jim a napkin and put the plate aside.

"So, all they wanted was the location of Farot's safehouse?"

"Yep." Jim tried to sound unconcerned, but he really didn't want to go into it right now. It was all too close. His skin still remembered the dull thump of each blow. "It doesn't matter. It's over now."

"Jim, they were hurting you—"

"It wasn't that bad. They were amateurs, Sandburg. They were still talking to me, still treating it like a game, or like a...a contest. Egging each other on to see who could break me. But then that new guy showed up—" __  
  
"Hillman."

"Was that his name?" It hadn't seemed important. The only thing that had mattered was the hard look in the man's eyes, a look that Jim had recognized immediately. "They were still knocking me around when he came in, and I dropped my head to take one on the jaw, and made like I'd passed out. I knew if that guy started working on me, it was going to be all over. So I guess I bought a little time."

"Just enough," Blair said, his voice faint. "Simon told me about that Hillman guy...he's done some really...it's his _job_ , hurting people _._ He could've really—"

"I wouldn't have let it get to that point, Chief. I would've taken care of things."

Jim blamed the painkillers, or his dizziness from finally eating after so many days, but he knew immediately he'd made a big slip. Blair's eyes went crazed and he started pacing.

"What the fuck does that mean, 'Taken _care_ of things'?"

Jim shifted uncomfortably. Suddenly the cover was too hot, and he pushed it from his shoulders.

Sandburg spun and faced him. "No fucking way, Jim. You _never_ give up. Don't the Rangers have a saying about it or something?"

Jim's laugh was harsh; his throat was still sore from yelling. He tried to gentle his voice. "Who do you think taught me to begin with?"

Blair's eyes widened.

"My first day of training they drilled us on no less than three ways to take care of it, one of them almost painless. All you need is a t-shirt and a stick or something for a lever. Lights out in under a minute."

He shouldn't be talking about this. He blamed the painkillers again, because in his right mind he would try his damnedest not to do anything to put that awful look of pain in Sandburg's blue eyes.

"Sorry, Chief."

Something seemed to snap at his words. It was almost a sound, like a tension wire going, and suddenly Sandburg's eyes were filled with anger. He stalked toward the couch.

Jim's muscles went tight at the inherent threat, and he had to suppress a groan of pain, unwilling to show weakness before Sandburg's sudden fury.

"No way, Jim. You have no right." His hands came toward Jim as if he meant to shake him, and involuntarily Jim shifted back.

Blair dropped his hands but continued angrily. "No right at all. You aren't a soldier, get it? You're a sentinel. You might be the only sane, functioning sentinel on the fucking planet," he said in a low voice. "That is _not_ an option. Not _ever._ "

It was kind of nice, in a way, Sandburg getting all bothered about it.

"Okay, okay. Don't get your boxers in a bunch, kid."

"Shit, I hate it when you get all patronizing on me." Blair's voice softened. "You're saying you'd...just give up like that? I never thought you were a quitter." The beautiful blue eyes were pleading with him.

Jim felt his face stiffen. Quotes from his ops training echoed in his head. "It's not about quitting. It's about...acceptable damages. It's about taking power in a situation where you're powerless."

"Jesus, Jim."

Poor Sandburg. He was staring at Jim with this panicked look. Under it was a heavy disappointment, as if Jim had really let him down this time.

Jim hated that look.

How to explain to the kid the way things were? Because in spite of Sandburg's travels all over the world, in spite of the nightmare situations he'd gotten into in their own back yard, he still retained this indomitable innocence. It was beautiful, really. Sandburg was beautiful, inside and out, and Jim didn't want him to lose that.

He gently tried to explain. "We're not talking about a depressed teenager in an after school special here, Chief. We're talking about sometimes having to make a strategic decision based on circumstances. In this case, it wasn't even close, yet."

Blair dropped onto the coffee table and set his hands on his knees. "Meaning there have been other times you've thought about...about—" He swallowed instead of saying it.

Jim took a heavy breath. "When I was a P.O.W—" He broke off when he saw the expression on Sandburg's face. But the kid had to know. He had to _understand_ , because Jim wasn't sure he could take having Sandburg be disappointed in him. _Pretty pathetic, old man._ He went on, ''—I came close, Chief. Real close."

"How close?" Blair sounded like it hurt to ask.

Jim rubbed his jaw with the back of his hand and winced at the ache. His stubble was gritty against his skin, and sense memory kicked in. He was back in the pit.

"I don't know how many days had passed... The pit was cool, dark, but I could still see. That was the weird thing. Every time they hauled me out they escalated the torture. They'd reached the point of—" Jim paused. "They'd started mutilation. That's always the sign you're supposed to watch out for. Once they start cutting, removing flesh...that's when you're just meat to them."

They'd peeled back square inches of skin on his hip. The pain wasn't nearly as bad as his understanding of what it signified, or as terrifying as the looks on their faces—avid, greedy, like feral children.

"Jim—" Blair's voice was choked. "You still with me?"

Jim shook away the feeling, putting it back in the box. His voice was remote once again. "The last time, they took some skin with them, and they told me my eyes were next. I believed them. And I couldn't give them the information they wanted—betray our contacts in the village. I was sure I wouldn't be able to withstand having my eyes put out. So when they dumped me back in the pit, I got everything ready, but the pain was so bad I passed out. And then I had a dream—"

 _Holy shit._ He hadn't remembered this part. He hadn't even thought of that time in years, but even back then he hadn't remembered...

"What is it, Jim?" Blair's hand was on his arm, just above the elbow. It hurt, but Jim was glad for the contact.

"It was a blue dream. I just realized...I had a blue dream. The jaguar was there, in a trap, and there was a wolf—"

"Jesus." Blair squeezed his arm in excitement.

"Easy, there, Sandburg."

Blair loosened his grip and shifted back. "What happened next?"

"I woke up." Jim shrugged. "I knew I'd be able to hear them coming, so I waited, but I got everything ready. All it would take was that final step." He remembered the coarse twist of his shirt around his neck, his hand on the stick he was using for leverage. All that was left was the final twist-and-drop. "Everything was so calm. I could see in the dark, just barely, and I remember wishing I had something a little more interesting to look at before I died."

Blair made a pained sound.

Jim shrugged. "I was ready. I was taking control, see? I would remove their power over me. I heard noises, and I got ready to do it, and that's when I heard the M-16s. And then there was screaming, and I heard a voice shouting—an American." Jim grinned, but it felt more like a grimace. He hadn't meant to go back through this. He'd only meant to get it through Sandburg's thick head that some things were outside his experience, in spite of his books and his travels and his studies.

But now Jim's throat hurt. He hadn't talked about this since his debriefing. He hadn't _thought_ about it since then, except as a low, background chant for a while— _almost did it, almost bought it—_ and he wasn't enjoying dredging it all up.

Except it helped, somehow. Because he couldn't talk about what had happened the last couple of days, but this memory was old enough to bear bringing into the light.

"Someone opened the trap door. I was still at the ready; I couldn't be sure the good guys had won, you know? Then I saw his face—I even kinda knew the guy from base, another Jim—Jim Fahey—and he leaned down into the hole and said, 'You about ready to blow this joint, Ellison?'"

Jim laughed. When Blair didn't join in, Jim turned his head and caught him in the act of wiping his eyes.

 _Crying. Jeez, the kid_ never _cries._

"Shit. Shit," Blair muttered. Jim reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay. It's all in the past, Chief."

Blair turned wide eyes on him. His eyelashes were damp. "Don't you get it, Jim? It was _that close_ —we would never have met. I would never have known you—"

Jim shook his head. "You're forgetting the dream. I saw the wolf, buddy. Even back then. It's like..." This touchy-feely crap gave him the hives, generally. But there was no denying the memory. He'd had the dream, and for some reason it had given him a tiny bit of hope. Enough to keep him from taking that final step just as soon as he heard the noises coming from above. He'd been on hair-trigger, but he'd waited. And help had come.

Blair grabbed his arm again and squeezed. Jim held back a wince.

"Jim. You're saying we were destined to meet or something? I thought you didn't believe in that stuff." There was a hopeful smile on his face, and something else. Something warm.

Jim shrugged, speechless.

"Man, that's way out. Because I feel the same way, you know?" Blair used his free hand to wipe at his eyes again. "It's like we were meant to...you're my...you're...I-I love you, man."

The words seemed to hold an echo—too long—and Blair suddenly dropped his hand as if he were afraid he'd gone too far. He looked away, and Jim saw him swallow—heard the click of it, dry and harsh.

"It's okay, Chief," Jim said as softly as he could.

He saw tension shudder through Blair's slim frame. "I'm not just talking friends, Jim." His eyes were trained on the floor next to the couch.

Jim had been in some tough situations in his life, and had always thought he had courage, but Blair's bravery was light-years beyond his. No doubt about it.

"That's okay, too." Getting those three words out took every bit of will he had, but it was worth it. Because Blair raised his head, and those deep blue eyes swam upward, catching on his. Jim sank into them, just for a moment, tracing the crinkled texture of the iris as if it held canyons of coral. So delicate blue, so beautiful...

"Jim...Jim...Jim!"

Jim came out of the zone, surfacing from deep water. "Sorry," he said, feeling sheepish.

"No problem, man." Blair's smile was rueful. "Did a little zoning myself just then, or I would've caught it sooner."

"Some guide _you_ are."

"Hey, you get what you pay for, pal."

It was so normal for them, this back and forth. Jim realized how easy it would be to slip right past the moment as if it'd never happened.

But he didn't want that. Possibilities seemed to spread before him, strange and yet familiar, explored in dreams or below thought. But first he had to know if Blair finally understood what he'd been trying to tell him.

"Do you get it now, Chief? There were people relying on me to keep their secrets. I couldn't allow fear to have power over me..." Jim trailed off as he realized all this time he'd been falling into the same trap with Blair. "Fear is a bad motivator," he said, understanding at last.

"I get it, Jim," Blair said, and there was wonder in his voice. He looked speculatively at him, making Jim conscious of his near nakedness in a way he hadn't been.

"What?" he asked irritably.

"You're pretty messed up right now," Blair said. "I hate that they hurt you. Even more, now."

 _Oh. He wants to—_ The thought short-circuited Jim's brain for a second. Dazed, he watched Blair's eyes roam over him until they finally landed on his lips.

Jim licked them automatically, tasting dried blood. They were swollen, tight and painful. It didn't look like Blair was going to let it matter, though, because he leaned closer, shifting down onto his knees until his face loomed over Jim's.

Taking a deep breath, Jim tasted Blair's scent in his mouth. Then Blair inched down and swept his tongue lightly over Jim's lips, a healing pass that tingled without pain. Jim's mouth opened automatically and he pushed up, trying to connect in a kiss, but Blair pulled back.

"Nuh-uh," Blair said, his voice husky. "Don't want to hurt you."

Jim made a sound of protest, but Blair ignored him, tickling his mouth with the tip of his sweet-tasting tongue, with lips that brushed feather-light over his, but refused to press. Jim gave up and let himself sink back, then waited for the next pass of Blair's tongue to tease his own against it.

Oh, he'd wanted this. For so long. And he'd known Sandburg wanted it, too, but want wasn't enough. Hadn't been, until he'd seen Blair's frantic face behind Simon's shoulder in that stinking room.

Blair had come for him. Jim had known he would.

The ropes had gone away. The smell of his own blood was replaced by the sweet musk of his partner as he eased Jim to the ground. And then Blair's soft-soft voice was whispering gratitude and comfort and care, and Jim had heard the truth beneath it.

The play of their tongues was so delicious that Jim groaned, and Blair pulled back, licking his lips. _Tasting me,_ Jim thought. In spite of the painkillers, his cock gave a sudden, surprising twitch.

But Blair straightened up, pulling away. He smiled hesitantly. "Jim, I have to know, before—well, not that anything's gonna happen with you looking like a tenderized side of beef right now—but I need to know if you...have you done this sort of thing before? With a guy, I mean?"

Jim gave a frustrated sigh. "Never kissed a guy before, no. But in the Army...we got up to other things. That shouldn't surprise you, Chief."

"It does, though." Blair did look a little shocked.

"It was all part of the same thing. Sex gives you the illusion you have power over death. Some guys used sex to get a feeling of control in an uncontrollable situation. It was never about love, though, not for me. Hell, it was never even really about desire—"

It must have been the wrong thing to say, because Blair stood, his knees cracking in the silence of the loft, and he started pacing aimlessly.

"What?"

Blair stopped suddenly and waved his hand at him. "So what you're saying is it was the circumstances. You're basically straight."

"I don't think you could say—"

"—because I don't need to tell you that any gay man with half a brain knows better than to get involved with a straight guy—"

"—I didn't _say_ I was straight—"

"—not that I'm gay, but I'm feeling pretty damned gay about you, Jim. I mean I've always been more than a little flexible, but I think you have to admit—"

"— _Sandburg_ —"

"—you're maybe the _least_ flexible person on the planet."

"Damn it, would you _please_ let me get a word in here?"

Blair coasted to a stop next to the couch, his face a little red.

Jim took a deep breath, regretting it instantly when his ribs protested. "Listen. Just listen." He opened his mouth, and then closed it again.

Blair tipped his head impatiently.

"Blair," Jim started, only to stop when Blair's jaw dropped open. "What? I can't call you by your first name?"

Blair nodded cautiously.

"Chief. I'm flexible, okay? I'm all over flexible. I'm whatever it takes, all right?"

And he could be. He knew that. Some of the shit he'd gotten up to in the Army had been way outside his comfort zone, but he'd done it anyway, with a kind of exhilarating terror that somehow felt better than the mind-numbing fear of being mutilated by a land-mine or killed by a mortar round at any second.

He felt the good terror now, looking at Blair's suddenly soft expression.

"Okay?" Jim prodded again.

Blair nodded and knelt down, his hand coming to rest on the same spot on Jim's arm. "Jesus, Jim. I don't want to lose you. I was gonna make you promise, you know? That you wouldn't _do_ that, ever. But I guess I can't."

"Nope. Hell, Chief, I can't make _you_ promise, either, much as I want to. Think about it—you did the same thing with Lash."

"What're you talking about?"

"You did. I was listening. If you'd just sat there quietly, passively, he would have followed his little script to the end—and way too soon. But you got in his face. You took control by letting go of your fear of what he would do in response, and it was the right thing, damn it. You put him off balance, really fucked with his head, and that's why you were still alive when I finally got to you."

"I did, didn't I?" Blair looked amazed. "Because I remember thinking it was the only thing I _could_ do. My only real option—"

"Your only chance at control."

"Yeah."

Jim nodded, satisfied. He felt Blair's eyes on him again, and smiled at the crazy flutter in his gut. "You're looking at me like I'm that side of roast. You hungry?" He meant it to sound teasing, but it came out wrong, a little choked and grainy.

Blair pulled back again, his eyes thoughtful. Then he shook his head. "I could eat," he said lightly.

So they had some more pancakes. And afterward Jim slowly made his way upstairs, Blair hovering like an alien spacecraft, obviously wishing he could beam Jim straight into bed. And when Blair turned to go, Jim caught his hand and tugged him down until they were lying side by side, shoulders touching, nothing more.

But it was good. Because he'd lived long enough to meet Blair, and had survived the past few days to learn that Blair loved him, to hear him whisper in the quiet dark—

"Love you, Jim. I'm so damned glad you're still with me."

And to get to respond, "Me, too, Chief. Me, too."

And that made it worth it.

  
.......................  
2007.06.08


End file.
